


4-Cold Feet

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 2, Trials and Errors [4]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Humor, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-08-30
Updated: 2000-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan gets a cold and two presents. Well, maybe three. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4-Cold Feet

**Author's Note:**

> Art by Fuumin

“Padawan, what—” Qui-Gon began and burst out laughing as Obi-Wan emerged from the fresher, pink and damp and clad in—no, it was too funny . . .

Said padawan glowered darkly at his master and then sneezed explosively several times and dove for a tissue. “Id nod nice”— _honk_ —“do make fun”— _honk_ —“of someone who’s”— _honk_ —“god a code,” he grumbled, consonants somewhat softened and garbled. “You’re nod usually so rude, Masder.”

Qui-Gon immediately smoothed his expression into one of heartfelt sympathy, but his eyes continued to twinkle and the corners of his mouth twitched perilously. “I’m sorry, love. I’ve just never seen you in those before. Wherever did you get them? I’m certain there’s none to be found in central stores.”

“Dianna god dhem for me. Dhis morning. I wad complaining do her yesderday dhad my feed—” he paused, sneezed again several times and blew his nose melodiously once more, then tried to inhale through it and started to cough. “Shid. Bloody code,” he groused. “—thad my feed and my budd ged code when I’m sihg,” Obi-Wan finished.

“I hadn’t noticed. And the top?” Qui-Gon went on. “Let me guess. A get-well present from Bruck?”

Obi-Wan grinned despite himself. “Obbious, isn’t it?”

“Rather,” Qui-Gon agreed. “It’s quite a combination.”

“I subbose id is,” he laughed a little, and coughed again. “Bud dhey’re really warm.” He turned around, “and beside dhe y-frond, dhey’be god dhis drop sead in dhe bahg so I don’d eben habe do dake dhem off when—”

Qui-Gon was off again himself, this time nearly bent double with uncontrollable hilarity. Miffed and insulted, Obi-Wan stalked past him and crawled sulkily into bed, pulling the covers up around his ears with a muffled snort and a pathetic cough.

Some time later, Qui-Gon climbed in beside him, warm from the shower, and snuggled up behind him. Obi-Wan sighed and coughed a little, nestling against his master’s long, pleasantly toasty bare body. “I’m sorry I laughed at you, Padawan,” his master said quietly into his ear, one arm sliding around his waist.

“Id’s all righd, Qui,” he smiled sleepily. “I admid I musd look preddy funny in whide, fuzzy, drob-sead foody boddoms and a D-shird wid dhe logo of Dhe Slash Girlz’s ‘Fuhg Me’ dour.”

“You could say that, Padawan,” Qui-Gon replied wryly. “It’s the fat purple Hutt-like . . . things on the bottoms that are most amusing, though I must admit I find myself intrigued by the front action gap and the rear access flap as well, especially in combination with the directions on the shirt. I don’t quite understand the significance of the rosebud in the shirt’s logo, however. But if you weren’t ill, I’d call you a tease.”

“I neber dease, Masder,” Obi-Wan informed him in a deep, husky voice.

Amazing, Qui-Gon thought, almost immediately standing to attention. Even with a cold his lover managed to sound sultry.

“Never?” Qui-Gon repeated, unsnapping the fastenings at the back of the bottoms and sliding one warm hand over the hemispheres of Obi-Wan’s ass, trailing a finger lightly up the crevice between them.

“Neber,” his apprentice confirmed, rocking his hips sensuously against his master’s hand.

Qui-Gon’s hand slid lower, exploring between the warmth of flannel and skin as though it were a new country. It was rather like searching for treasure, he thought, and there was something about having just this little bit of skin accessible that made it all the more exciting. His hand roamed farther down inside the warmth as Obi-Wan crooked up one leg to give him access, down between the young man’s legs, over his perineum with gentle fingers, petting his balls lightly, brushing the root of his cock, all of it left to Qui-Gon’s imagination fed by touch alone. His lover purred deep in his throat, and then sneezed, somewhat ruining the effect.

Obi-Wan reached for a tissue and then into the drawer beside the bed for the customary lube and blew his nose before handing the tube to his master. “Obi-Wan, are you certain you’re feeling well e—”

“Please, Qui,” he groaned, rocking his hips. “You’be wound me ub. Now finish id.” And soon he was rocking a little harder onto one of Qui-Gon’s probing fingers, breath rasping in his throat.

“Are you all right, love?” Qui-Gon asked, slipping another slick finger into him carefully.

“Oh yes, Qui. Don’d stob,” he moaned and coughed, clamping tight around Qui-Gon’s finger.

Qui-Gon repressed a snicker and kissed the back of his lover’s slightly sweaty head, fingering the young man’s prostate. Obi-Wan moaned and bucked against him again, gasping. Really, the boy sounded like he was in serious respiratory distress.

“Obi-Wan,” his master began.

“Now, Qui, please,” he groaned. “Fugh me.”

Obediently, if with some hesitation directed at the welfare of his apprentice, Qui-Gon slicked his cock, pressed the crown against his lover’s opening, “Just like your shirt sa—oh!” and stopped suddenly. “Oh, I understand now. Well, that was a bit dense of me, wasn’t it?”

“Qui,” Obi-Wan whined “Whad are you dalking aboud? Ged on widh id!”

“The rosebud,” Qui-Gon expounded. “I see the reference now. I think. But why—”

“Qui!”

“Sorry,” he murmured sheepishly and continued his arrested action, sliding easily into his lover’s passage. Obi-Wan shuddered and spasmed around him, taking in the length of his lover’s cock with a deep groan—and then began to cough again, but much harder than previously. For a moment, Obi-Wan’s muscles rippled around him deliciously, but as Obi-Wan continued to cough it became, not really uncomfortable . . . rather simply impossible to maintain his position. With each cough, his cock slid a little further out and Obi-Wan’s passage clenched against him. Both of them could feel him sliding out and neither knew quite what to do, Qui-Gon flummoxed and Obi-Wan both amused and somewhat embarrassed. One last deep and prolonged cough forcefully ejected Qui-Gon’s cock from its warm sheath.

By now, it was hard to tell whether Obi-Wan was coughing or laughing. Whichever it was left him gasping when it subsided. “Oh Qui, I don’d dhink I’be eber done dhad before!” he whooped. “I’m sorry.”

Qui-Gon was nearly helpless himself, holding Obi-Wan and leaning his forehead against the back of his padawan’s head, trying to catch his breath. “Shall we try again?” he said finally, humor coloring his voice. “Or is it likely to occasion a repeat?”

“I’m afraid id might,” Obi-Wan agreed reluctantly, snickering himself into another cough.

Qui-Gon cleaned himself off and snapped up the rear closures again, somewhat reluctantly patting Obi-Wan’s bum. “Well, since the back door is inaccessible, let me try the front,” and he rolled his lover over onto his back. Obi-Wan’s cock was already peeping out the slit in the front of the sleepers. Qui-Gon leaned over and gave the crown a lick that made Obi-Wan writhe beneath him.

“Mmmm, nice,” he crooned.

Qui-Gon slid his hand into the short, narrow gap, closing it around Obi-Wan’s cock and shifting to make more of it accessible, but there was little room to maneuver. Opening and member did not seem to quite line up somehow. He tried to stroke his fist along the hard, hot length, but there wasn’t quite room for that either. He shifted his fist again and Obi-Wan jumped and gasped. “Ow! Qui! Id doesn’d bend dhad way! Led go for Sidh’s sake!” Which Qui-Gon did immediately, mortified, tangling his hand in the cloth and unable to extricate it without some awkward flapping.

“Jusd pull dhem down already!”

Obediently, Qui-Gon fumbled at his waist for a moment. “Where the devil are the ties for these?”

“Dhere aren’d any. Id’s jusd elasdic,” Obi-Wan snapped impatiently.

Qui-Gon chortled and Obi-Wan turned to look at him in outrage. “Elas-dic. Elas-dick. No? No. I see. You’ve no sense of humor when you’re ill, Padawan.”

“I’m beginning do dhink dhese are some sord of chasdidy beld, nod sleebers,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Am I going do ged laid donighd or nod? I’d like do redurn dhe fabor, bud I can’d breadhe well enough do do you in dhe usual way.”

“I’m not about to ask you to,” Qui-Gon assured him peevishly, still recovering from his embarrassing moment of clumsiness and Obi-Wan’s outrage. “And they might as well be a chastity belt because I’ve given up all hope of getting into them.”

Obi-Wan rolled over again and curled up with his back to Qui-Gon, coughing, a little peevish himself. “Fine,” he snorted, then sneezed again. “As you please.”

“And you are a tease, Padawan” Qui-Gon muttered, rolling onto his back, his erection collapsing.

“Well, which one ob us has code feed now?” Obi-Wan growled savagely and rolled himself in the covers.

Qui-Gon stifled a sigh and shivered a little. Maybe he should dig out his own sleep pants, thin or not. It was, apparently, going to be a long—cold—night.


End file.
